Memory of a lost illusion.
by Marie-J


Will Graham's wife and son were the very image of the happy family, on this Christmas' eve. Gathered around the piano, next to the decorated tree, they were singing traditional carols along with Josh's maternal grand parents. The scene had a really appeasing effect on anyone, bringing joy and warmth in the proud and loving father and husband. Or at least, that was what Will tried to force on his heart and mind. But the shadow of a regret, of a deep sadness was lurking very close to him.

Today was much more than Christmas, for him. It was the second birthday of that terrible day. This fateful day when, seeing his father-in-law cutting the turkey and giving the best part to his young grandson, Will had understood. He had seen in his mind eye the meaning and purpose behind all those mutilations... not some sort of trophy for a greedy killer, but the best meat for a delicate gourmet.  And then, in a flash, the face of the man he had first admired for sharp intelligence, then respected for his precious help and affectionate friendship, and finally loved for the feeling of deep kinship he had finally discovered in the older man's mind and the passion he had discovered in his strong and gentle arms so recently, the face of Doctor Hannibal Lecter had appeared.

A connection, a crazy link had suddenly established itself between this explanation and this dear face, an unbelievably painful idea that had haunted him for more than a week, until, at last, he couldn't wait anymore in this torturous doubt. He had left late one cold January evening and had gone to talk to him, hoping despite his growing certitude, that he had been wrong, that his 'gift', as Jack called it, had stopped working its 'miracles', that his trust and love had not been betrayed and perverted so totally. And for a moment, a very short time, he had almost convinced himself... until his eyes had fallen on this damn book, the Larousse Gastronomique.

And his world had shattered around him... this warm hand on his shoulder, giving him for the last time the impression of tenderness and love that had been associated to this gesture for the past few months, had been holding him gently if firmly as the other hand was killing him... Those eyes, burning into his own, had been shining with passion, excitement and... was it regret too ? This voice that had many times whispered lovingly at his ear soft nonsense or comforting reassurance, had then brought him a sentence of death.  And in his despair, Will had welcomed it.

But a question, the last effort of his dying and breaking heart had given him a last flash of energy, fed on anger and rage this time. 'Had Hannibal ever loved him, cared even, or had it been a sick game all along?' Reaching for a weapon, he had followed that last force and tried to pull his lover, the serial killer Hannibal Lecter, the cannibal-doctor, in death with him.

Had it been the last attempt at vengeance, the last fight of a betrayed trust, the painful outburst of a murdered love?  Will wasn't sure, even now, two years later. All he could remember now was this horrible feeling of loss. Surrounded by the love of his family, their light laugher and cheerful support on this happy Christmas day, he had tried to smile to his wife and son. But he was now stranger to those emotions... Sitting by the fireplace, at the other side of the room, he was listening distantly to their song, watching them from afar, as if he had no longer his place in their innocent joy, a tear sliding slowly down his cheek in memory of a lost illusion.